


Closeness

by yeaka



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blindness, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Vignette, World of Ruin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 16:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20969309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Prompto visits Ignis.





	Closeness

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Final Fantasy XV or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The shack he’s staying in is hardly a _house_, barely even shelter—just four small walls with a hot plate in the corner and a cot at the back. When he keeps the candles burning, it keeps the daemons back, which is all he really needs. He won’t be long anyway. Just passing through, Ignis goes where he can and does what he can. Sometimes it feels like none of it really matters—he may as well just tuck himself away in this little hole and survive, if even that. Others, he knows he can make a difference, how ever small, and that’s his duty. He has a letter with sparse orders from Cor, punched out in Braille, that he pores over on the bed. It was waiting for him when he came back. They want him back at Hammerhead. He’ll go. Eventually.

He hears the door open and tenses on instinct, but he knows who it is a second later, and that lets him relax. Prompto’s scent is a familiar one—a floral cologne mixed with sweat and grime. Prompto’s footsteps are light and meandering, bizarrely distinct. He shuts the door behind himself, and then he’s walking towards Ignis, murmuring, “Hey.”

That’s all the greeting that they need. Ignis answers, “Hello.”

The bed frame creaks. He can feel the mattress dipping down. Prompto is crawling towards him, probably still fully dressed, boots on and everything. Ignis is the same, just in case he should have to run. He feels Prompto’s hair butt into his stomach, and he reaches out to place his letter on the nightstand. 

Prompto adjusts against him. Trim legs grind into his, loop over his knees, draw down and fidget, while Prompto’s arms curl against his side. Prompto nuzzles into his throat, his shoulder, trying different patches of his chest, and Ignis reclines back into the pillows to give more room. For a long moment, that’s all they are—not exactly _snuggling_, but trying to get comfortable, and it all amounts to the same thing. Prompto is like a puppy full of affection—Ignis doesn’t have to see the love in his eyes to _feel_ it. 

Ignis’ hand drops into Prompto’s hair, and he pets through the messy strands with a languid sigh. Prompto sighs too. He stills, now resting in Ignis’ lap. His breath tickles Ignis’ midsection through his shirt. Ignis draws long, soothing strokes across his scalp and even scratches behind his ears. Prompto makes a low mewling noise in the back of his throat. It’s ridiculous, the way that they’ve become, full of fumbling touches laden with trust and fondness. Once, Ignis would’ve thought it mad. 

Now he looks forward to these small moments of peace more than he could ever say. He hasn’t heard the happy yipping of a puppy in nearly a decade, and he’ll never see one again. Prompto’s companionship is just as sweet but far more fulfilling. 

Prompto sleepily mumbles, “’Was a long walk here... mind if I stay?”

Ignis promises, “You’re welcome any time.”

“Like... _right here._”

Ignis is smiling, but he doesn’t know if Prompto can see it—Prompto’s eyes might already be closed, mind just drifting off. He must already know the answer, because Ignis doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t ask again. He murmurs sluggishly, “Thanks, Iggy.”

Ignis finds the right place on Prompto’s forehead and brackets it with his thumbs. He leans down to press a chaste kiss against it. By the time he rises, he knows that Prompto’s fast asleep. 

He sleeps better too, feeling like hope is in his hands.


End file.
